A morning person. I never thought I'd become a morning person. Sure, I'd have to get up to be in the office by nine during the week, but not on the weekends.
Now I appreciate waking up early. Instead of wasting away another couple of hours sleeping I go grocery shopping, or do laundry. There's something about a pristine sunrise. A magic which only exists for two hours after daybreak.
If the weather is nice enough I like going to the park after finishing my errands. Greenery is a luxury in the city. I grew up on two acres of grass and trees. It's just the perfect way to unwind after five days of sitting in a regulated office environment.
This park is a slab of grass surrounded by a gravel path and concrete patio. Birds chirp, French carousel music emanates from the south, and a few clusters of people chat. An hour before noon is the ideal time. Sunlight covers the lawn, but it isn't crowded.
My usual trek down includes cantaloupe and whatever book I'd borrowed for the week. Sunglasses too. I'll eat on a bench in the shade and watch everyone. There's a woman who practices T'ai Chi; her movements are fluid and deliberate. She's practiced for a long time, or so it seems. A lot of tourists like to flock to the park as well. They take pictures and sit for a while on a bench, though they never venture onto the lawn.
I only sit on the grass to read. Most people venture to the area for sunbathing. I'm fine without taking off my shirt. They lay out and stare up at the morning sky, a crisp blue, or read a book. I think it's in an attempt to forget, just for an hour, about life in the city. Getting lost in a good book is enough for me.
I'm guilty of doing something else at the park.
One day in June I brought Asimov and my melon down to the park after visiting the bank. It was the first cloudless day in a while. I had welcomed the cool air and rain in May, but we were so close to summer now and I was ready for the heat. Jeans weren't the greatest choice in retrospect.
I'm a small guy. Not height-wise, but I could use to be a built out more, in my mind anyway. There's a myriad of mental blocks and a social identity which only exists in my head keeping me from going to the gym. The upside is I can stay comfortable wearing jeans on hot days.
I took a seat on one of the benches after strolling down the path around the edge. There were five or six people strewn on the lawn. My melon was still cool despite the twenty minute subway ride and walk over. It tasted ripe. Like eating summer.
A woman in dark glasses sat next to me. She perched on the edge of the bench and scanned the park. I'd glance at her to see what she was watching, but there was no pattern. Sometimes people sit and wait to meet someone or take a break from walking. She sat there and swiveled her head to track the passersby.
When the melon was done I set the plastic container next to me. It was from a nearby grocer so no one would judge where I bought my produce. Of course, I went there every Saturday and was too set in my ways to change stores.
I read for twenty minutes and glanced up once or twice to check the lawn. A guy, maybe two or three years younger, had crossed over and sat on the grass a few feet from me. He'd set his bag down and pulled out a book and a peach. He looked on the preppy side, but there was something endearing about him. A sense of innocence, or confusion, spoke of a deeper character.
He probably lived near the park. This was my first time seeing him. I bet he liked to read the books his friends told him were "the classics" in his parent's library. Snobbish types kept away from this area. The green shorts, flip-flops, and plain shirt meant he knew what fashion was, but kept it as a mid-level priority. All this from a glance.
Now I had lost interest in my book. Isaac would understand. I watched him type something out on his phone and mess with his hair. Was he posting some vapid status about reading a "great book and enjoying the great weather"? Letting his friend know where to meet him? Telling his girlfriend he loved her?
A child ran across the lawn, her mother close behind. Something fell during the construction of a stage on the other side of the park making a clanking noise. The music from the carousel continued playing in french. All of it was just background.
He set his phone back into his bag and I knew what was coming next. His shirt was coming off. I could anticipate the minute movements someone makes before taking off their shirt. There's this feeling, you can see it in their face, checking to see if everyone else is doing it. Some people couldn't care less, but he showed a small amount of self-consciousness. I have no idea why.
It was pointless to stop myself from crushing on him. When he leaned forward, and I could see the waistband of his underwear against his back, it was all over. His unblemished skin was smooth and tan. In my head I was trying to will his shirt off of him until it finally happened.
My eyes set to poring over his body in the moments before he lay down. The curve of his pecs was almost like an ellipse, though his shoulders weren't very wide. His midsection was stunning. Toned, but no abs, which was fine with me. There was a trail of hair growing below his navel, otherwise he only had body hair on his legs. It was dusted over his thighs and calves.
I wanted to get inside his pants.
There were times when I'd looked at guys in a sexual way, but this was the first time I ever thought it right there in the moment. I fantasized about sucking him off while he ran his hands through my hair. There was no way to explain the effect he had. I was the only one stuck in a cloud of lust. The perched woman had taken off.
After a few minutes I shut my book, packed it away, and threw out my plastic container. There was a two second struggle in my head before I went and sat on the lawn. I was going to listen to music and keep to myself. And watch him.
He lay on his back and read. The shift in gravity had flattened his stomach out. I watched his chest rise and fall with each steady breath he took. My sunglasses kept my activities hidden. Plus, he wasn't looking at me. The things I wanted to do to him. I'd never even done any of it before myself. I imagine he never had either.
Another session of typing on his phone before he ate the peach. A guy took a spot near the other edge of the lawn. Did this new guy just pique his interest? I built a stupid false hope which I would never act on. I knew as much as I was interested in this guy I would never do anything. I had appearances to keep.
But I can always dream.
Dream with me.
I failed to notice his approach; heavy 80's synth beats had distracted me. His shirt was back on and his bag was packed. He looked at me in a way which said he knew I was looking back and made a gesture to his wrist. I popped out an earbud.
"Could you give me the time?" he asked. His voice was pleasant yet commanding. Like someone with a voice for radio and face for the silver screen.
I checked my watch, "almost one," I said.
He shaded his eyes from the sun and thought for a moment. "You said almost one?"
"Yeah."
"Shit."
His hand fell to his side with a smack. This was the moment. He could walk away and I would forever be the guy he asked for the time before he was late. Or I could do something. Say something.
"You alright?"
"I'm supposed to meet a friend downtown, but my phone's dead."
"You can use mine if you want."
"No, no, it's fine. Could you just tell me where the A train is?"
"I'm going there now if you want me to take you," I lied. I'd have to take the train to get home, but I doubted we would be going in the same direction.
"I guess that works," he offered his hand, "I'm Vince."
"Marco."